


You're All I Want

by banrionsi



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, I didnt know this was personal & i had these feelings inside of me until i started writing this fic, Introspection, Jealousy, Love Island: The Game Season 3, This is what the kids call projection, as per usual lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25885336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banrionsi/pseuds/banrionsi
Summary: Yasmins gaze starts to linger on someone else
Relationships: Yasmin (Love Island)/Reader, Yasmin/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	You're All I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to Midnight Love by Girl in Red, Heartbeat by Childish Gambino, and Slow Dancing in the Dark by Joji if you really want to cultivate that angsty atmosphere x

From her place lounging on the sunbeds, under a blanket of shade generously given by the patio parasols, Yasmin breathes out a soft tinkling laugh and rocks slightly further into Rafi.  
He chuckles along with her with that stupid smug selfassured grin on his face and lets himself lean forward into her orbit too. You watch him drink in the sight of her, sunkissed and carefree and wild, with dark hungry eyes and something primal and possessive deep within your chest roars at the thought of him looking at her as you do, craving her as you do, desiring her as you do.

Touching her as you do.  
  
The heat is killing. The suns rays bearing down on you mercilessly and you know that you should get under shade or at least apply some more sunscreen, but you take a vicious kind of pleasure in the beginnings of a burn tingling along the span of your shoulders. You know later tonight in bed when Yasmin murmurs a name under her breath and rests her head in the crook of your neck to sleep, the starched white sheets will feel like acid, like sandpaper, when you grind your raw flesh against them beneath you.  
Strength is found in endurance and you will feel better for it. To feel anything other than this seething envy, to distract from the hollowness beneath your ribs and the stone weighing down your tummy, will be a relief.  
You shift your weight on the beanbag and lean back, pressing your forearms into the astroturf grass and clutching the rough strands in your hands. You roll the grass through your fingers and _grindddd_ it with a strong grip until your knuckles blanch and all you can focus on is the strong steady pressure of harsh scraping on your palms. Your mind is too frantic, emotions too unruly and its making your limbs antsy and your skin too tight.  
Breathing out through your nose, you close your eyes. What can you feel? The simmering heat of your shoulders cooling down now they are shielded from the sun against the textured canvas of the beanbag. The grain of the astroturf between your toes and fingers, an unfaltering even drag. No breeze fluttering teasingly through your hair. Not today. Only dead heat.  
Gradually, your muscles lose their tension and your breathing evens out into slow deep inhales and exhales. Your fingers lessen their deathgrip and fall limply on the scratchy grass.  
It'll be okay. It is okay. Yasmin is a grown woman and so are you and this is Love Island. If she wants to chat to Rafi and see if theres anything there then that's her business. That's her right. It would be yours too, if only you could speak to anyone else without wishing it was Yasmin instead. You're reigned in again, compact and neatly ordered in your box. Ready to smile and act normal and like you aren't tearing at the seams everytime Yasmin's grip on your hand falters when Rafi strolls past. 

You wonder if anyone else feels like this. Like theyre trapped within themselves, banging their fists on the inside of their skin to get out and be free and speak their mind and what they mean. Your emotions are locked behind firewall after firewall and you throw away the key everytime, because nobody must know how deeply you feel and how you drown under the thundering waves of your unacceptably ugly anger, jealousy, misery.  
Would Yasmin feel as you do if positions were reversed? If you fed into Lily's hunger and her devouring eyes, returned her saccharine sweet words and covert winks. If she were in this beanbag, watching us across the lawn under the parasols shade, would she too push her feet into the grass and rub her fingers raw? Would she bite her tongue to keep its sharp tip docile, pretend she is infallible and impossibly understanding all the time? Humans arent meant to live like this, restrained and fake, you think. You know. The 21st centurys transparence and omniscient spotlight has everyone performing. The villa is no different to everywhere else  
The sun beats on. A droplet of sweat runs down your temple. Yasmin howls out his name from the sunbeds. You resume your selfflagellic ministrations on the astroturf with vigour.


End file.
